


paint the sky in ever grey

by fruitwhirl



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, i meant for this not to be fluffy but it still sorta is, the after math of a disaster wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:03:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14062407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: “I didn’t get the chance to say it before, but your dress really does make you look like a mermaid.”Despite her best efforts, the corners of her lips quirk up. “The dress I almost bought—it was actually called a mermaid style. At least, that’s what Gina told me.”





	paint the sky in ever grey

**Author's Note:**

> it sounds v angsty but i promise it's not. that's mainly because i don't know how to write angst, but this little plot bunny refused to go away. this was written in about an hour and is unedited, so my apologies. 
> 
> title from "give me life" by lewis watson.

Upon reflection, the wedding march—interrupted soon after Gina had stepped out onto the flower petal covered aisle with Terry in tow—now reminds him more of funeral procession. The pair had _just_ passed one of Amy’s brother (Raphael, if he recalls correctly) and his wife, when he glanced over at Holt in his suit and glasses with his speech in his hands, and the captain was smiling wider than Jake had ever seen and then it all went to shit.

“Jake?”

A soft, strained voice pulls out of his stupor, out of the endless replay of the events that were unfolding in his mind. He lifts his gaze from the folded hands in his lap to his wife—no, _fiancée_ still. The mauve of her lipstick has faded, been bitten away in worry, and the up-do her hair was in has fallen, curls escaping the twist, framing her face in a way that makes her look almost ethereal, even standing in the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital corridor.

He forces each word out, his throat suddenly raw. “Any word on Holt?”

Amy tries to smile, but it’s tight, pained. “He’s out of surgery. He hasn’t woken up yet, but Kevin’s in his room.”

“Can we see him?”

“No,” she says, her voice breaking. “Only immediate family is allowed in right now.”

Unable to move, Jake just nods. After a moment, she slowly lowers herself down to sit next to him on the bench, the trim of her skirt dragging along the linoleum floor. She’s still in her dress and he’s still in his tuxedo, because they didn’t have time (or motivation, even) to change into street clothes, but he shrugged off his jacket an hour ago, and Amy had tossed the extra layer of tulle underneath her skirt into his backseat on the ride over, to give her better range of motion.

At the time, he hadn’t been able to really take in her dress. When the bomb went off, his only concern was finding Amy because she was the sole person not on that basketball court (after pushing through throngs of frightened guests, he did find her behind those double doors and she had her skirt bunch up in her fist, her heels in her hand, and she was ready to run). A part of him feels guilty that he had been so narrow-minded, as he hadn’t even thought to look at the man next to him who was bleeding out. As if sensing his train of thought, Amy slides her hands over his, smooths her thumb over his in slow, easy strokes.

“It’s not your fault, Jake.”

He nods, even though they both know that he doesn’t believe it, and instead his eyes are drawn to the delicate lace crawling over her sheer sleeves, to the same pattern ornamenting her skirt as it brushes his leg. To the ring that still rests on the fourth finger of her left hand, and to the fragile silver necklace that rests on her collarbone.

 “I didn’t get the chance to say it before, but your dress really does make you look like a mermaid.”

Despite her best efforts, the corners of her lips quirk up. “The dress I almost bought—it was actually called a mermaid style. At least, that’s what Gina told me.”

What follows is a few minutes of silence—not necessarily comfortable or tense, but rather something they just fall into. It’s broken only when Amy’s phone buzzes by her side, insistent, and she pulls back one of her hands, so that she can glance at its screen. “It’s Terry.” Her look is cautious, and Jake finds himself nodding as she picks up the call, brings it up to her ear.

“Hey Terry… no, we’re fine, and Holt’s surgery went fine, but he’s still out….” And then there’s a long stretch where she’s just listening to the sergeant on the other line, and her pinched expression clutches at his heart. But then it morphs into relief, flooding her face with a sort of hope. “Okay, good. That’s good.”

And after a couple more quick exchanges, she hangs up, turns to Jake, and her smile is a little watery but it’s there. “Everyone else made it out, no serious injuries aside from Holt. The rest of the squad will be here soon.” But there’s a pause, and this time, he reaches over to wrap his arm around her waist to pull her close, cover her hands with one of his. Quietly urges her to continue. “But no one knows who the bomber was and they slipped out before anyone could stop them. They’re thinking that it’s one of Murphy’s more violent associates who was pissed that you and Holt busted him, but they don’t know who.”

Her voice sounds controlled, even a little strained, in an effort to keep herself calm just as much as him, he thinks. And she’s shaking ever so slightly, and he can’t bring himself to speak in that moment, so he just leans down a bit, and presses his lips, tender, to the skin just above her brow. She sighs something soft, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder.

“We’ll find them and Holt’s going to be okay and we’re going to get married and it’s all going to be okay,” he murmurs in a rush into her hairline.

He can feel her nod, feel her pull back and tilt her chin up to kiss his jaw, slow and faint. “We’re going to see Holt soon, and it’s all going to be okay.”

Jake thinks they make quite a pair, sitting on the cool metal bench outside in a secluded hospital hallway, with Amy still in her white, white dress and him in his white shirt and untied tie. In a few hours, the rest of their coworkers ( _family_ , a voice inside his head insists) will trickle in with dried tears and worry still etched on their faces, bearing shitty hospital coffee and reticent questions about Holt, and even softer condolences for the wedding.

But three days from now, when Holt has been discharged and Charles still has the rings in his pockets (no one thinks to ask for them back), Rosa will lead Jake out and Terry will lead Amy out (under the guise of information for a case and “sergeant duties” respectively) to an empty, shut off street, where a makeshift aisle and rows of chairs will have been constructed, and they will see their friends and family, and then _Holt_ at the end of it all, wearing an arm sling but boasting the biggest smile either of them have ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought by leaving a comment below!


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